


Dragon Date

by Andrius



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Broom Racing, Courting Rituals, Dragon/Human, Dragons, F/M, Fluff, Giant Spiders, Horns, Human Transformation, Humor, Interspecies Awkwardness, Interspecies Romance, Misunderstandings, Monster Girl, Romantic Comedy, Snowball Fight, Tails, Teen Romance, Wings, Yule Ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29702214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andrius/pseuds/Andrius
Summary: Harry's botched spell during the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament transforms the fierce Hungarian Horntail into an only slightly less fierce woman. When Professor McGonagall insists he attend the Yule Ball and represent Hogwarts with dignity, he suddenly knows exactly who to invite as his date.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Hungarian Horntail
Comments: 15
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

Harry clutched his Firebolt with desperate strength as he ascended vertically into the clear skies. The wind in his ears drowned out the clamor of the crowd but not the thumping wingbeats of the monstrosity below him. He sat astride the fastest broomstick in the world, yet the Hungarian Horntail was still gaining on him. Narrowing his eyes at the bright sky, he kept his course, intent on luring the dragon as far away from the nest as possible.

A loud inrush of air made his blood run cold. He yanked the Firebolt left, and not a moment too soon: a pillar of white flames roared through the space he just vacated, so hot it singed his eyebrows from yards away. He swerved around a black leathery wing, avoided a swipe of a spiky tail, and dived toward the ground. The Horntail followed.

The spectators in the stands pointed and yelled. He had to admit to feeling a smidgen of glee as he directed the dragon toward the judges, causing them to scramble out of their venerable seats. At the last moment, when he was so close he could have snatched Madame Maxime's fur shawl if he wanted, he leveled out of the dive and zipped across the rocky arena.

There was a deafening _thump_ and a gust of wind as the dragon braked. Harry steadied his Firebolt and peered through the ensuing cloud of dust toward where the golden egg gleamed tantalizingly in its nest. Leaning forward, he put on a burst of speed. _Just a little further_.

A powerful inhalation whooshed behind him, and he corkscrewed aside an instant before white flames filled his vision. Panicked, he yanked his broom with all he had. Dragon fire, blue sky, and rocky ground alternated wildly before his eyes; he had spun out of control. His elbow guard grazed the ground, and then he was rolling, rebounding, banging off the rocks over and over.

A short eternity later, he came to a rest on his back. His vision was blurry, and it took his rattled brain a moment to realize that he had lost his glasses. He wheezed in a breath and tried to sort out his limbs.

Rising screams broke through his daze. An enormous black shape darkened the sky, growing larger by the second. His eyes widened, and he fumbled for the wand he had tucked behind his Quidditch padding. He raised it shakily at the swooping Horntail and opened his mouth.

He would often come back to this moment to try and figure out what had happened. The main thought in his mind, he wasn't ashamed to admit, was _Bloody hell, I'm about to be eaten!_ His mouth blurted out something like "Argh, g'way!" His hand, meanwhile, performed the swish-and-jab of Animate Transfiguration that he had intended to use to distract the dragon before he decided on flying.

And in a flash of light, the Horntail _vanished_. Harry didn't have the time to be surprised, because the next moment, something crashed into him and drove the air from his lungs. He groaned, raised his head, and froze.

Straddling him was a woman—a very fit, _very naked_ woman with two horns upon her head and a smattering of freckles around her cheekbones. He met her eyes and flinched; they were golden and slit-pupiled, like the Horntail's in miniature.

"You fly well, for a human," she said in a sultry voice. "But I am the queen of the skies. Now I will chomp you for your audacity."

She parted her lips and bent over him. Her teeth grazed his neck; he yelped and twisted away. She growled and nibbled on a different spot. He grabbed her shoulders and shoved her away. Her dusky skin was hot as if feverish.

The woman did not resist. With a puzzled expression, she opened her mouth and ran her fingers over her elongated fangs. Then she jerked her hand away and stared at it as if seeing it for the first time. "By the skies," she said faintly, "how did this happen?"

The next half an hour was a blur. Dumbledore and some others rushed up and pulled the strange woman off him. There were a lot of insistent questions and yelling, not the least from him after he got tired of repeating that no, he didn't know what was going on, and _could someone fetch his bloody glasses already_?

Then he found himself in the hospital wing under the tender care of Madam Pomfrey—bruises and hairline fractures, almost beneath the notice of a seasoned Quidditch player. The horned woman was also brought here, which made sense because she clearly needed help.

"I'm ugly!" she wailed to anyone who would listen—or was forced to, in Harry's case. "I'm small and puny and soft like a Flobberworm!"

She demonstrated this by grabbing handfuls of her soft flesh, which Harry found quite intriguing, especially now that his glasses were back upon his nose—but Madam Pomfrey strode up, tutting, and erected a curtain around her bed with a swish of her wand.

"And what's this?" the stranger wailed on. "Is—is this _hair_? The same stuff that tangles around teeth and smells horrid when burned?" She was silent for a moment, then exclaimed in dismay, "Down here, too?"

"Another Calming Draught, I reckon," Madam Pomfrey muttered, retreating into her office. "Where's Dumbledore when you need him the most?"

Harry glanced warily at the curtain, not at all eager to be left alone with the madwoman, but she appeared to have quieted down. He was beginning to relax when something on the other side rustled, and her horned head poked through the curtains.

"You!" Scowling, she staggered toward him, naked as the day she was born. A black scaly tail wobbled behind her back as she struggled to keep her balance. "Now that I think on it, _you_ made me this way, did you not?"

"E-excuse me?" He tried to scrabble away across his bed, only to remember that Madam Pomfrey had spelled his legs immobile while the Skele-Gro worked its magic.

"Don't play dumb." She lurched forward, caught herself on the edge of his bed, and clambered on. Her golden eyes seemed to glow as she crawled toward him. "I changed the moment your spell hit me."

The back of Harry's head bumped the headboard, but it was the revelation that made him freeze. "You mean—you— _the dragon_?"

"What else could I be? Do not mistake me for one of your puny kind." She raised her head proudly, but quickly deflated. "I admit defeat. It was truly powerful magic, to penetrate my scales."

Harry gaped. Her horns were indeed bronze and tapered like the Horntail's. The long hair she was so upset about gleamed the same deep black as its scales. What he thought freckles on her cheekbones were delicate diamond-shaped scales, and there were more below, a smattering on her shoulders and a faint line down her ribs—he swallowed and lifted his gaze.

"Restore me to my true form, wizard," she said, looking him in the eye. "Our contest is over, and you have punished me enough."

"This isn't a..." He shook his head. "I don't know how. It was an accident."

"An accident," she said hollowly. Suddenly, her face was an inch away from his, her fangs bared in a snarl. "Tell me you're lying! Undo your curse, and I shall leave and have no further quarrel with you."

There was nowhere left to retreat. He took a deep breath and met her eyes. "I'm not lying. I'm sorry."

For what felt like minutes, she searched his face. Then, as abruptly as she had lunged at him, she sat up and sniffled. "You—you're telling the truth? Am I going to stay like this forever?"

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe Dumbledore—"

"But I'm so hideous!" she cried. "I'm squishy all over—and how am I supposed to hunt with this flat mouth?"

He floundered for something to say. "Er, you still have a tail."

"Puny like a fledgling's!" Curling the tail around, she hugged it to herself. "Wouldn't even crush an Acromantula!"

"And your claws—"

"Tiny! Worthless!" She raked her long nails across the sheets, slicing through to the mattress underneath, and blinked. For a moment, Harry dared to hope that the destruction would mollify her, but then she only wailed louder. "My old claws would've smashed this bed apart with a single swat!" She buried her face in her hands and broke into tears.

Harry looked around in a panic, but Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight. He was beginning to suspect the Calming Draught had only been an excuse to get away. Horntail's—it would take time for him to get used to thinking of her as such—tears rolled down her cheeks. Screwing up his courage, he reached for her scaled shoulder.

"There, there," he said, patting her awkwardly.

She lowered her hands in surprise, then sobbed and launched herself at him. Gripping his shirt, she bawled into his chest. He stiffened before patting her back. Consoling the dragon that had tried to eat him not an hour ago... This day couldn't get any weirder.

Dumbledore, naturally, chose this exact moment to arrive—he and Madame Maxime, Headmaster Karkaroff, and Professor McGonagall. Harry spied Ron and Hermione peeking through the closing door, their mouths agape, and driven by some mad impulse, gave them a grin and a jaunty wave.

"I am relieved to see you in high spirits, Harry," Dumbledore said, striding up to the foot of the bed. Behind him came the other three. Horntail swiveled around, hunched low, and hissed. "Ah—pardon us, young lady, we're quite a crowd."

It only took a raised hand from Dumbledore for everyone to retreat a few steps, although Madame Maxime did so with an indignant huff. Some tension drained from Horntail's shoulders, and her previously rigid tail wavered slightly. Harry blushed and raised his gaze to somewhere safer. As Charlie Weasley had said, her back end was as dangerous as her front.

"I do apologize about the delay, Harry," Dumbledore said, tactfully avoiding looking at Horntail. "Your display has caused quite a stir and left us in a quandary as to how to grade your performance."

Harry stared at the judges. Who cared about _points_ when there was a naked dragon-woman on his bed?

"But you appear to have handled the situation splendidly in the meantime," Dumbledore continued with a twinkle in his eye. "And now that all the concerned parties are present—"

"Wait just a minute, Dumbly-dorr!" interjected Madame Maxime. "Zis is totally inappropriate. We must dress ze poor girl before any further discussions."

"Hear, hear," muttered Professor McGonagall.

"I was about to offer that suggestion myself," Dumbledore said. "If you would do the honors, Madame Maxime—I am told my sense of fashion is violently outdated."

Madame Maxime sniffed. "I would be 'appy to."

She stomped closer and drew a large wand from her sleeve. The dragon-woman watched apprehensively. At the first twirl of Madame Maxime's wand, matching underthings covered her nudity. Before Harry got much more than a glimpse, a white slip followed, hanging off her shoulders and pooling over her folded legs, then long-sleeved outer robes; not only they fit perfectly, there was even a hole for her tail.

"What is this?" Horntail gasped and clawed at her collar. "You dare restrain me?"

Madame Maxime caught her wrist. "Zis is finest French silk. Stop flailing!"

"Let go!" She freed her hand and tugged at the buttons. "Ugh, it's clinging to me everywhere—take it off, take it off!"

"Keep still," boomed Madame Maxime. "All zese men, staring—on a boy's bed— _inacceptable_!"

Harry flinched as the tip of a scaly tail swatted his cheek. Horntail was struggling against the much larger woman's hold, and to everyone's surprise, succeeding. Spurred by the danger of his bed becoming a battlefield, he suddenly had a brilliant idea.

"But you're so squishy," he said. "Wouldn't it be safer to wear clothes?"

Horntail abruptly ceased struggling. She contemplated him, then her clothing. "So _that's_ how your kind deals with its inadequacies," she said in the tone of someone who had an epiphany.

Madame Maxime slowly stepped back, while Harry sagged with relief. He grinned faintly at the approving look Dumbledore sent him.

"Why didn't you say this was for protection?" Horntail rounded on Madame Maxime. "Give me more!"

The Beauxbatons headmistress stepped up to the task and conjured a winter cloak and a pointy hat that accommodated her horns. Then she lured her off the bed with a pair of socks and shoes, allowing Harry to sit up more comfortably. Dressed head-to-toe in fine clothes, the dragon-woman looked more like a dragon-lady, but she still appeared unsatisfied, pinching her robes and poking at her stomach.

"Maybe something thicker," she said, looking around warily. "What if there's a manticore? It would surely chomp me now that I'm small and pathetic."

Professor McGonagall spoke up. "You won't encounter manticores at Hogwarts, I assure you. Albus, perhaps now that Miss Horntail is presentable, we could get on with the matter at hand? Countering Miss Granger's and Mr. Weasley's attempts to transfigure gaps in the door so they could listen in is wearing on me."

Harry snorted and glanced toward the door.

"Right you are, Minerva." Dumbledore drew his gnarled wand but did not point it at Horntail just yet. "If you will permit me, young lady, I would like to examine you magically. There will be no discomfort to you; I daresay you will not feel a thing."

Horntail stood stiff, only the tip of her tail whisking side-to-side.

"It's all right," Harry said in an undertone. "Professor Dumbledore's brilliant. If anyone can figure out what happened, it's him."

Horntail took a shuddering breath. "Go ahead," she said, looking the headmaster in the eye.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said, seemingly addressing her and Harry both.

The gnarled wand swished through the air, leaving motes of gold and silver in its wake. Horntail squeezed her eyes shut, but as time went on, her tense countenance relaxed. The golden motes swarmed around her horns and tail, while the silver built a shimmering bridge toward Harry. Dumbledore appeared startled and made a brisk gesture. The motes vanished.

"The young woman before us is indeed the Hungarian Horntail that Mr. Potter faced off against," he said, lowering his wand. "For now, that is all I can say with certainty."

Karkaroff, who had done nothing but skulk in the background, muttered darkly under his breath.

Dumbledore looked almost amused. "I trust you will withdraw your petition to disqualify Mr. Potter, Igor? We now know that there was no outside interference except our own. Had he been allowed to continue, I do not doubt that he would have collected the egg with little difficulty."

Karkaroff nodded curtly. "To transfigure a dragon at the age of fourteen... One has to wonder where Potter learned such spells." His eyes gleamed as he appraised Harry.

Harry glared in response.

Dumbledore clapped his hands. "Now that that's taken care of," he said cheerfully, "perhaps you would care to return to the arena and announce the outcome to the audience, Igor, Madame Maxime. I shan't be far behind."

Madame Maxime looked down at Karkaroff. "Meester Karkaroff, I find zese 'allways perplexing. Would you escort me outside?"

Karkaroff wrenched his gaze away from Harry. "It would be my honor," he said perfunctorily, and offered her his arm.

Harry waited for them to leave with what he thought admirable patience, but the moment the hospital wing door shut, he rounded on Dumbledore. "Please, sir, what's going on? How could this happen?"

"I rather hoped you would tell me, Harry. It was your spell that so dramatically transformed—Miss Horntail, was it, Minerva?" Dumbledore looked at the dragon-woman. "Excuse me, but how should we address you?"

She jutted out her chin. "I am She Who Soars Under Stormy Skies And Reigns Victorious Over Her Enemies."

"A name after my own heart! Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, delighted to make your acquaintance." He extended a hand, which she scrutinized from every angle and settled for slapping it. Dumbledore just smiled. "Your name is a direct translation from dragon into English, I presume? Most fascinating. The general thought is that dragons do not have anything resembling a language."

"Hmph," she said, crossing her arms. "Just because we don't yap on and on doesn't mean we can't communicate."

"Why English?" Harry asked quietly. "Why not—I dunno—Hungarian, or whatever?"

Dumbledore fixed him with a piercing gaze. "As usual, Harry, you have the knack for cutting to the crux of the matter. Miss Reigns-Victorious-Over-Her-Enemies speaks English because you speak English. I cannot fathom how this occurred, but your spell has linked you at a profound level. As the caster, you were the one to impart your traits to her, but the link persists and may very well go both ways." He smiled reassuringly at Harry's alarm. "Of course, this is mere speculation. Do inform me if you start breathing fire."

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Albus, this is hardly the time for jokes. What are we going to do about this?"

"Why don't we ask those involved?" Dumbledore said. "Miss Reigns-Victorious-Over-Her-Enemies is a sapient being and has the right to decide her own future. I spoke with the dragon handlers, and they assured me that they hold no interest in a dragon that weighs under a ton and isn't covered in scales."

Horntail pouted at the reminder of her inferior squishy state but quickly set her jaw in determination. "I wish to soar through the skies and bask in the sun after a good hunt. I wish to be changed back."

"I am afraid I cannot do that," Dumbledore said, his face clouding. "Not only are you and Harry linked so inextricably that I dare not interfere, transfiguring something as large and magical as a dragon is beyond my power—which is not inconsiderable, if you'll forgive my boasting."

"But..." She ducked her head, trembling. "What shall I do? Where shall I go?"

"If you wish," Dumbledore said kindly, "our school, Hogwarts, is open to you. You could start learning magic with our first-years."

She raised her head slowly. "I can do magic? Like your kind?" A brilliant smile spread across her face. "Then I can learn how to turn myself back!"

"Indeed, that is a possibility, if you master Transfiguration to a sufficient level," Dumbledore said, omitting that such a level would be beyond even his. "Professor McGonagall will accompany you to Diagon Alley to be fitted for a wand, once things calm down."

She inclined her head. "Thank you, patriarch. I accept."

"Just 'headmaster' will do, my dear girl," Dumbledore said, chuckling. "You will also need to be Sorted into one of our four houses. There will be space for another bed in the first-year dormitories, I am sure."

"So there will be others in this lair," she said slowly. "Are we to fight until only the strongest is left?"

"Good heavens, no!" McGonagall said. "Your house is like your family within Hogwarts. You will sleep in your dormitory with the girls in your year and spend time with everyone else in the common room."

She bristled. "How can I sleep with those not of my kin? There's no telling when one of them might decide that I'm easy prey!"

McGonagall looked ready to argue, but Dumbledore spoke first. "Then perhaps alternative housing can be arranged. I shall task Hagrid with constructing a house out in the grounds, where Miss Reigns-Victorious-Over-Her-Enemies can stay until she is better accustomed to the human lifestyle."

McGonagall considered Horntail, who had hiked up her robes to scratch her leg, and sighed. "That might be for the best. Lastly, her name..."

"What's wrong with my name?" Horntail demanded, straightening up.

Dumbledore's beard twitched. "I must confess, I don't see the issue either."

"I can hardly enter that mouthful into the school records," McGonagall said firmly. "By human conventions, it is too unwieldy."

Horntail scoffed, "I thought your kind was supposed to be clever."

"Alas," Dumbledore said ruefully, "you will find that we're not without our foibles."

McGonagall stared them down in turn. "Our kind's failings aside, merely calling upon you in class would prove a challenge. Please shorten your name to two or three words."

"Two words?" Horntail asked incredulously, but McGonagall did not back down. Her tail wilted. Furrowing her brow, she hemmed and hawed. "Rock-Melting Flame! No, wait—Skull-Cracker!"

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't recall any of that being in your full name. Besides, your second creation sounds like it belongs to a goblin."

"Goblin," she growled, splaying her claws. "Are there goblins in the school?"

"Not since a few centuries ago," Dumbledore said, raising an eyebrow. "Minerva, perhaps it would be best to avoid Gringotts during your upcoming trip."

"Quite," the professor said dryly. "But returning to the topic..."

"How about Victoria?" Harry suggested. He shifted a little as everyone's eyes focused on him. "Because you're, er, victorious... Just a thought."

Horntail's slit-pupil eyes studied him with unnerving intensity. At last, she nodded. "The name does not fully convey my might, but it will do. I must fit in with your tribe so they don't ostracize me until I learn what I need."

"Then allow me to welcome you to Hogwarts once again, Victoria Horntail," Dumbledore said brightly. "Now, I really must be going. I shall leave the rest in your capable hands, Minerva, Harry." He winked and swept off in a whirl of brocade robes.

Harry raised a hand. "But I still don't understand—"

"The more I learn about magic," Dumbledore mused as he walked, "the more I realize how little I know. This is your mystery to solve, Harry. If you put your mind to it, the answers will come in time."

Harry's hand sagged to the bed, the myriad of questions on his mind left unasked. He exchanged a commiserating look with Professor McGonagall. It rather felt like the headmaster had dumped the whole mess into their laps.

McGonagall sighed. "Well then, Miss Horntail—while the headmaster is entertaining our foreign dignitaries, why don't we drop by his office and get you Sorted? Mr. Potter needs some peace and quiet to heal."

"So that's why he isn't moving," said the newly christened Victoria. "He's hurt!"

"Precisely," McGonagall said, "which is why we should—"

"What if a troll tries to crunch his bones?" she asked, looking him over. "He's so feeble, it could crush him in one hit!"

Harry frowned and pushed up against the headboard. He reckoned he could take one hit. Maybe two on a good day.

"There are no trolls at Hogwarts," McGonagall said. "Except that time three years ago"—she pursed her lips—"but that was an exception, a freak incident that won't happen again."

It was too late to backtrack. Victoria tensed and scanned the rows of empty beds as if expecting a troll to pop out from under the blankets.

"Really, Miss Horntail, Hogwarts is perfectly safe," McGonagall said exasperatedly. "The hospital wing in particular. Please follow me and leave Mr. Potter to recuperate."

"It's true," Harry said. "Even when the basilisk was on the loose, it never attacked the hospital wing." He grinned cheekily at McGonagall's chiding look.

"Basilisk!" Victoria cried, her pointed ears flattening backward. "I don't think I can fight it with these flabby limbs, but I'll try. I still need Harry to turn me back if I'm unable to do so myself."

McGonagall glared at Harry as if it was somehow his fault that the school's sewers had had a basilisk infestation. Then she eyed Victoria, and her lips twitched with amusement. "Were you already Sorted, I would award points for bravery, misplaced as it is. Very well, I shall pick you up when Mr. Potter is discharged. Watch over him and see that he doesn't sneak out until then."

Victoria bobbed her head. "I shall protect him with my life."

Harry gaped as McGonagall beat a swift retreat. It was almost as if the staid professor had decided to have a bit of revenge for his earlier cheek. Traitors, the lot of them.

The door creaked open, and Hermione rushed in, Ron trailing a step behind. He wouldn't meet Harry's eyes but still approached resolutely. Despite himself, Harry smiled; he had missed him over the past weeks.

A sharp hiss resounded, and Ron and Hermione halted a dozen steps away. Victoria ducked behind Harry's bed so that only her horns peaked above and glowered at them, a wisp of smoke escaping her lips.

Harry slapped his forehead. This was going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry stormed out of Professor McGonagall's classroom and resisted the urge to slam the door. She didn't even listen! Never mind that he hadn't put his name into the Goblet of Fire. Never mind that he was at his wit's end about the egg's clue. Never mind that he would rather pickle rats' brains for Snape than parade himself in front of everyone at the Yule Ball. No, he still had to find a date and represent Hogwarts with dignity, according to McGonagall, _or so help her god_.

He took off along the hallway, fuming. That traitor Ron had snagged Lavender, and not a day passed without him bragging about it. Every other Gryffindor girl in their year already had dates, as Hermione had loftily informed him. Of the Quidditch team, Alicia and Angelina were going with the Weasley twins, and Katie with some Ravenclaw he didn't know but hated on principle. Ginny was going with Neville of all people.

And so Harry's woefully short list of female acquaintances was exhausted. If he wanted a date, he would have to look in other houses. Slytherin was obviously out. The notoriously loyal Hufflepuff shunned him because of the perceived slight against Cedric. That left Ravenclaw. His heart raced as he thought of Cho Chang. The prospect of asking her out was terrifying, but needs must.

He was about to head to the Great Hall to see if any fifth-year Ravenclaws were about when he halted in his tracks. There was another name on his list: Victoria. The more he thought about it, the more brilliant the idea seemed. She was a Hogwarts student and thus a perfectly eligible date. Although she attended first-year classes, she was no little girl. Most importantly, taking a dragon to the Yule Ball would definitely get a rise out of McGonagall.

A gleeful grin quirked his lips. With a Hungarian Horntail at his side, he could make a mockery of the stupid ball, and no one would dare say a thing. Even though she was now several tons lighter and somewhat less spiky, she made up for it with attitude.

His mind made up, he strode to the main staircase and climbed two floors. McGonagall had just finished her last class for the day, and firsties didn't have electives, which meant Victoria would be leaving either Charms or Potions. Naturally, he chose to check Flitwick's class first.

Squeals of children drifted down the second-floor corridor, interspersed by convincing growls. Alarmed, he quickened his steps until he reached the ajar door of the Charms classroom.

A trio of first-year girls scampered around the classroom, screaming their heads off. Hot on their heels was Victoria, her claws raised and her fangs bared. More firsties hid behind desks and fired jinxes at her, which she leapt over or ducked under without slowing.

She cackled. "I'm going to catch you and eat you!"

"No," squealed a running girl, "somebody help!"

"I'll save you!" a boy yelled. As Victoria passed by, he jumped and grabbed onto her scaly tail.

She twisted around at the waist and lifted her tail so that the boy hung from it. "Then I'll eat you first. Rawr!"

Harry clapped a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter. Victoria's pointy ears twitched, and she turned sharply toward the door. Upon seeing him, her cheeks colored, and she looked away.

"Silly fledglings," she said gruffly. "Enough of your games." Her tail whipped, and the boy flew off with a shriek, landing on his butt a few feet away.

"Aww," the firsties chorused. Sending Harry dirty looks, they collected their bags and filtered out of the classroom.

Harry stepped inside, grinning. "Glad to see you're getting along with your classmates."

"Hmph. They have an appreciation for my draconic attributes, as they should." Her golden eyes met his. "Is something the matter, for you to seek me out here? Another Blast-Ended Skrewt on the loose that needs clobbering?"

"No, nothing like that. I was just wondering how you were doing." That wasn't what he planned on saying, but now that the time came to ask her to the ball, he was suddenly a bundle of nerves. "In classes and such."

"Classes are pure torture!" She slammed an open palm against the nearest desk, making him flinch. "I've just about had it with these _desks_ and _chairs._ Why won't they let me sprawl out on the ground like a proper dragon?"

"It's outrageous," he agreed, schooling his face into a sympathetic expression. "And, uh, how's your new wand?"

Her face cleared, and retrieving her bag, she pulled out a foot-long wooden case in a slow, reverent gesture. "I'm beginning to see the advantages of humanity," she said, clutching it to her chest. "Magic is an unparalleled boon; if I master it, I could become even mightier than I used to be. Too bad the elders aren't teaching us any useful spells yet."

"Oh, don't remind me," he groaned. "All those weeks and months of turning matches into needles..."

"Exactly! I keep asking, when are they going to teach us to drown our enemies in lava? Melt their bones? Call down lightning upon their heads? The possibilities are endless!"

"And what do the professors say?" he asked, overtaken by morbid curiosity.

"The cat-woman told me off for disrupting the class, but the little man commended my enthusiasm and said I could take the exams early and move up a year if I keep doing well." Her eyes gleamed. "He said seventh-years may read restricted books that contain spells so potent they could destroy this castle. I can't wait!"

"Er... I'm sure it won't be long before you can learn those." And god help Hogwarts when she did.

"I knew a powerful wizard like you would understand," she said appreciatively.

He squirmed uncomfortably. Just because he had accidentally transformed her, she considered him the second coming of Merlin. But if she was so impressed with him, whispered a sly voice in his mind, she shouldn't be opposed to being his date. "There's... something I'd like to ask you."

She tilted her head. "Then ask it."

He took a deep breath, and unable to meet her eyes, directed his gaze to the vicinity of her shoulder. "There's this ball coming up. The Yule Ball, I mean. It's..."

"A place for humans to show off their mates, isn't it?" she said knowingly. "It's all your kind have been prattling about."

"Something like that," he said, glad he was spared having to explain. Then his stomach knotted. "Has someone asked you to go with them?"

"Yes." She ticked off her clawed fingers matter-of-factly. "Five males and one female."

His heart sank. "Oh." He should've known. Even given her sharp horns and sharper temper, Victoria was very pretty.

"Tepid, the lot of them. Most balked at my challenge, and the rest dropped out within a minute."

"Oh." His brain caught up with his ears, and he shook his head in confusion. "Challenge?"

"Dragons don't pick mates casually." She planted her hands on her hips. "Whoever wishes to court me must display their prowess before I even consider the proposition. Humans cannot melt rock or crunch bones, so at the very least they have to outfly me."

He licked his lips nervously. "So if I were to outfly you... speaking theoretically, of course..."

She went very still, her eyes fixed on him. "You wish to court me?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it. The word 'court' was probably just a silly dragon expression, but it nevertheless gave him pause. Then there was the question of whether getting one over McGonagall was worth the trouble.

She turned away slightly, watching him from the corner of her eye. "I'll understand if you back out," she remarked. "It might just be impossible for a feeble human to outfly a dragon."

He puffed up indignantly. "I already did during the First Task, didn't I?"

An impish smile curved her lips. "Your memory must be failing you. I intercepted you before you could reach the nest, and thus the victory was mine."

"Only because of your fire breath! If it wasn't for that, I would've won." Her grin widened, nettling him. He jabbed a finger at her. "You're on. You're _so_ on. When do you want to do this?"

"Why not right now?" Looking very smug, she linked her hands and stretched them high in the air. "I fancy stretching my wings."

"Fine by me. Grab a broomstick and meet me down on the Quidditch pitch."

Not waiting for a reply, he raced out of the classroom. As he barreled up the stairs to the Gryffindor tower, his frown morphed into an anticipatory grin. He barged into the common room, dashed up into the dorms, and retrieved his Quidditch gear from under his bed.

Changing out of his robes and into his padded kit hardly took a minute. Broom in hand, he started toward the door, then paused and glanced at the window. Grinning, he tugged it open, mounted the Firebolt, and zoomed out into the crisp December air.

It felt great to fly again, but he only looped around the tower once before descending to the snowy Quidditch pitch. To his surprise, Victoria was already waiting by the stands, her long black hair fluttering in the wind. He landed before her. She had changed into a snug sweatshirt and jogger bottoms, better suited for flying than loose school robes, but remained empty-handed.

"Where's your broom?" he asked. "Should I go ask Madam Hooch to lend you one?"

Her eyes glinted mischievously. "Why would a dragon need a stick to fly?"

She balled her hands into fists and hunched. Something stirred beneath her sweatshirt, drawing his gaze to peculiar slits along her shoulder blades. A pair of black leathery wings burst out with a _whump_ , causing him to gasp and step back.

She straightened up and smiled toothily. "Haven't I told you I learned to do this? It must've slipped my mind."

He gaped. The wings spread as wide as she was tall, and as in her original form, were made of a translucent membrane stretched between rigid digits. Hooked claws topped the wings' shoulders, rising above her horned head.

Her smile faltered. "Are they unsightly?" she asked, flapping lightly.

"No. No, they're brilliant." He smiled wistfully. "To fly without a broom... If anything, I'm jealous."

Her tail wagged, almost brushing the snow. "Then grow your own. I will teach you how to use them."

He laughed incredulously.

"I do not speak in jest. The patriarch says you might be able to become less puny by borrowing my traits."

Harry pursed his lips skeptically. The only change he had noticed was a ravenous appetite, which could easily be attributed to him being a growing boy. "Why do you call Dumbledore that, anyway?"

"He is the strongest and wisest in this land, is he not?"

He nodded slowly. There was no arguing that.

"That makes him the patriarch," she said authoritatively. "I'm surprised humans still defy him, even knowing he could destroy them with a flick of his wand. Were he a dragon, he would just crunch the upstarts' skulls until no one dared to bare their fangs at him."

Harry couldn't help but smile at the mental image of Dumbledore biting off Lucius Malfoy's head. Perhaps there was something to dragon customs after all. "Well, since I don't have wings, I'll use my broom," he said. "What did you have in mind? A race around the pitch?"

Her nose wrinkled. "In a circle? No, I shall flee, and you will chase me, as dragons would. If you catch me, victory is yours." She jutted out her chin and beat her wings once.

His fingers tightened around his broom. Now that he saw she would be flying under her own power, he wasn't as confident, but he wasn't about to back down either. This was nothing compared to flying against her dragon form. "Let's do this."

With a sparkle in her eyes, she strutted up to him and leaned to whisper in his ear. "Fly well."

Her wings beat mightily, raising flurries of snow and making him shield his face. Before he knew it, she was soaring into the overcast sky. He wasted a moment gaping, then mounted his Firebolt.

"Not fair!" he cried, kicking off.

His only response was a fading cackle. Despite himself, he grinned. He was in his element now and would show her what the youngest Seeker in a century could do.

The snowy pitch swiftly retreated, while Victoria's winged figure neared at a slower pace. She climbed high above the stands, then somersaulted and folded her wings to plummet toward the ground. Leveling out of his climb, he flew to intercept her, but she corkscrewed away. He nosedived after her.

The ground neared, yet she continued to plummet. His stomach clenched, and he yanked up his broom to brake first. Mere yards from the ground, she unfurled her wings and threw her feet forward, sinking up to the knees into a snowdrift by the base of the stands. She flapped vigorously and soared back up, leaving him sputtering in a cloud of powdery snow.

Wiping his forehead, he gave chase. She climbed along the frame of the stands, feinting left and right, her tail undulating like a snake; he tried to mimic her moves, but saw that he was no match for her agility and simply powered straight up. Then she veered left, for real this time, and he was late to react, falling further behind.

She winged off toward the Forbidden Forest, and he pursued only after a moment's hesitation. Soon they were zooming above the forest's outskirts, almost skimming the snowy treetops. That they were leaving Hogwarts grounds and entering uncharted territory was the furthest concern from his mind. What was important was that her lead was shrinking; in a straight line, he was faster.

As if reading his thoughts, she glanced back and flashed her fangs at him. Her wings folded, and she plunged into the woods below, her hair trailing her like a black banner.

His mouth hung open. For several seconds, he continued on his course, tracking her winged figure between the trees. Then, realizing he would lose sight of her before long, he nerved himself and dived.

Snowy trunks hurtled at him, forcing him to weave wildly and drop his speed. The winged blur that was Victoria appeared and vanished between the trees to his nine o'clock. He swerved after her and winced as a protruding branch whacked his shin.

She spiraled around a sturdy pine and kicked off its trunk to rapidly switch direction. Glittering snow fell from its branches. Harry rolled into a ninety-degree turn and sped through the snow, heedless of the icy crystals stinging his face. She danced ahead, out of reach but close enough that he knew he could catch her if he pushed just a little harder.

Deeper and deeper they flew, not slowing as the forest thickened. Harry's eyes were fixed upon his quarry, and he had become one with his broom, not flinching as he tore inches past the snowy trunks. Victoria's laughter echoed off the trees, and he whooped in delight. This was terrifying and mad and absolutely exhilarating. The ball invitation was long forgotten; he simply wanted to catch her. Wanted it with every fiber of his being, even if he wasn't exactly sure why.

Crisscrossing white strands stretched between the trees ahead. Victoria chose this exact moment to glance over her shoulder and flew on, unseeing. He yelled a warning. She quickly faced forward, and furling her wings, ducked under the crisscrossing net.

Harry rolled under his broom in a textbook Sloth Grip Roll and dived after her. As he straightened up, his eyes widened; more white nets hung everywhere he looked. He braked so hard that his broom reared. Victoria twisted mid-air and threw out her wings, but wasn't able to stall her momentum and collided with a net. The white strands stretched and rebounded, leaving her dangling back and forth not far off the ground.

"What is this?" She thrashed furiously, but the strands wouldn't let go. "Who dares bar a dragon's way?"

Harry descended the last few yards and leapt off his broom, sinking into the snow up to his shins. He plodded toward her and tilted back his head. Victoria's back was stuck fast, including her half-spread wings. Her thrashing had shaken the loose snow off the net, and its shape was unmistakable.

"That's an Acromantula web!" he exclaimed.

Her eyes went wide. "If they catch me helpless, they will surely chomp me!" She inhaled deeply and spewed flames, but with the side of her head glued, she couldn't aim at the web.

"They sleep during winter, I think." He yelped as another plume of flames came close to setting his hair on fire. "Calm down! I'll cut you free."

"Please hurry," she said, glancing left and right.

He produced his wand and took careful aim. "Diffindo!" The jet of light severed the strands above her head, causing her to lurch forward. He proceeded to cut around her shoulders, but it was slow going. "Could you pull in your wings?"

Victoria scrunched up her brow. Her leathery wings rustled and retracted, and she ripped free with a scream. He lunged to catch her. She fell into his arms, and he staggered for a couple of steps before collapsing back onto the soft snow.

"Thank you, thank you," she wailed, embracing him. "The Acromantula would've slurped out my innards!"

"Those are important," Harry agreed breathlessly. He patted her back and frowned when his hand got stuck. "You still have webbing on you."

She sat up, and they set to prying the sticky strands off her sweatshirt. Her gaze kept darting toward him until she spoke up quietly. "Sorry I got careless. I haven't been small enough to romp in a forest since I was a fledgling. It was just so _fun_..."

"It really was," he said, grinning.

She smiled back, uncertainly at first, then so radiantly it made his innards flutter. He coughed and broke eye contact.

"There's some stuck in your hair," he said, gesturing vaguely above his ear.

Victoria felt about for the webbing, tugged at it unceremoniously, and squeaked in a mixture of pain and surprise. He jumped in and tried to peel the sticky fragment off her hair, but after a minute of struggle, only ended up creating the mother of all tangles.

"I could cut it off," Victoria said, grasping her hair a few inches away from the roots. "It's been getting too long, anyway. Is this much enough?"

He raised his palms. "Hang on, let's ask Lavender for help first. Lavender Brown, that is—she knows loads of hair spells and might know what to do."

"Lavender of the Browns?" she mused. "If she can tame hair, she must be a powerful witch. I struggle with mine every morning."

Chuckling, he raked a hand through his unruly mop. "I know the feeling."

Her gaze followed the motion of his hand. "Maybe this stuff's not so bad after all," she murmured.

He lowered his hand self-consciously, yet she continued to stare at him, her vertical pupils widening. No, not at him but at something _behind_ him. He began to turn around when she seized his lapel and tugged him face-first into her lap. She inhaled deeply and roared out flames, the heat tickling the back of his neck.

He turned his head in time to see a smoldering spider carcass the size of a Quaffle fall from a branch. More of its ilk scuttled between the trees, some as wide as he was tall, yet not sinking into the snow.

He sprang to his feet. "But they sleep during winter!" It seemed _The Monster Book of Monsters_ wasn't worth the paper it was printed on.

"They must've woken up to chomp us!" Victoria cried, standing up beside him.

There was no time to ponder the spiders' habits; now that their ambush had failed, they abandoned stealth and scurried toward Harry and Victoria, clicking their pincers. His first impulse was to run, but she splayed her claws and snarled at the oncoming swarm.

He brandished his wand. "Impedimenta!"

Half a dozen Acromantula slowed to a crawl, but the rest scattered to the sides and kept coming. He petrified one and jinxed another to tap-dance madly. Victoria spat out a torrent of flames that incinerated three more in its path.

Then the remaining spiders reached them, and the battle devolved into a frenzied melee. Harry blasted the Acromantula back and jellified their legs and shrank them enough to be trampled underfoot. Victoria speared them with her claws and walloped them with her tail and torched them. The two of them held their ground, but the swarm was simply too numerous.

Taking a page from her book, he aimed at the thick of the spiders and cried, "Incendio!"

His cone of flames set the spiders ablaze and caused them to scuttle about in a blind panic. He swiveled on the spot and conjured more fire. Victoria pressed her back to his and did likewise, her muscles flexing with the force of her exhalation. Pops of cracking chitin pierced through the roar of flames. The closest webs caught fire, sending black smoke into the skies and filling the air with the stench of burnt hair.

Pressing his sleeve over his nose, Harry scanned the surroundings. Blackened carcasses littered the melting snow, their spindly legs curled inward. Nothing moved.

Victoria wrapped her arms around his neck. "We crushed them!" she exclaimed, bouncing up and down. "Roasted them good and proper!"

"Yeah... I guess we did." He hugged her, laughing. She was covered head to toe in spider guts and smelled accordingly, but somehow that didn't matter.

She pulled back and considered the carcasses. "Were I larger, this would make for such a feast! Crunchy on the outside and gooey on the inside..." She licked her lips absently.

He gulped queasily. "I'm sure the animals in the forest will clean this up. Why don't we return to the castle? It'll be dark soon."

"Oh, all right," she said ruefully. Weaving around the carcasses, she sought out a pristine snowdrift and dived into it face-first. Squealing at the cold, she rolled around and scrubbed off the muck.

He wrenched his gaze away and summoned his Firebolt. Fortunately, it was undamaged, if a bit wet with slush. He was about to mount it but had a sudden thought. "About our challenge..."

Victoria froze mid-roll, then leapt to her feet, snow clinging to her hair and clothes. "That's right, you caught me! _Oooh_." She buried her face in her palms. "For all my boasting, I needed help to escape a puny spiderweb. I haven't been so disgraced since I was outwrestled by my younger brother." She spread her fingers to peek at him. "Are you certain you want me? Even though I'm so flabby and haven't mastered enough magic to compensate for my weakness?"

" _Weakness_?" He swept his hand at the carnage. "You tore them apart with your bare hands! The next time you step into the forest, they'll be more afraid of you than a basilisk."

She scuffed the snow with her shoe. "Oh, Harry," she said, wagging her tail. "You say such nice things."

He blinked, bemused. "Then we're, you know, good for the ball?"

She nodded vigorously. "We will go together and show each other off to your tribe."

He exhaled in relief. At last, he had a date—and it only took a madcap chase and a minor massacre of the local Acromantula population. Professor McGonagall better appreciate his efforts.

He mounted his Firebolt and eyed her soggy clothes. "Want to ride together?" He swallowed, suddenly embarrassed by his own forwardness. "For—for warmth and stuff."

"We can?" She pranced over and promptly straddled the broomstick behind him. "The stick the hawk-woman tried to teach me flying on barely lifted me, but yours seems much stronger." She wrapped her arms around him in a vice-like grip. "Go as fast as you can, please!"

"N-not so tight," he wheezed. Her body gave off heat like a furnace, and he wouldn't have been surprised to see steam coming off her clothes. So much for him warming her.

"Oh." Wiggling against him, she eased up a little. "Is this right?"

"Perfect." Glad she couldn't see his blush, he pulled up and maneuvered through the branches.

"Wait, look!" She pointed at the edge of the massacre zone. "I could eat that smaller one if you helped."

"Maybe some other time," he said diplomatically. "I don't feel like spider tonight."

Before she could insist, he accelerated toward the distant castle, pushing the Firebolt to its limits, and grinned as her screams of delight rang in his ears.


	3. Chapter 3

Students of Europe's three largest schools of magic milled about the entrance hall in a vortex of colors. By the wall, against the backdrop of a gilded tapestry, Cedric, Krum, and Fleur posed for photos for the _Daily Prophet_ and some foreign papers whose titles Harry couldn't pronounce. He knew that because McGonagall had stopped by his corner and told him he had to make an appearance, _or else_. Irked, he refused to say who his date was and only told McGonagall they would be there.

Ron and Seamus hovered beside him, also waiting for their dates. Unlike Harry, they did not seem worried—at least not about themselves.

"Your date wouldn't be of an invisible kind, would she? Seamus asked innocently.

Harry scowled. "I don't see yours around either."

"Oh, she'll be there." Seamus grinned. "We've got the best-looking birds in our year, don't we, Ron?"

"True," Ron said proudly. He glanced at Harry. "Listen, mate, I can ask Lavender to pose for photos with you. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"I have a date," he said tiredly.

"So you say," Seamus drawled. Ron just shrugged and dropped the subject.

Harry sighed and glanced toward the stairwell for the umpteenth time. What was taking Victoria so long? He was certain she wouldn't stand him up—not on purpose. Her lack of human common sense was another matter.

The reporters had finished taking individual photos of the champions and were struggling to fit Madame Maxime, Dumbledore, and Karkaroff into the frame. Rita Skeeter ordered her underling to fetch a chair from the Great Hall and scanned the ranks of students while she waited. When her gaze fell on Harry, she smiled unctuously and beckoned. A shiver went down his spine, and he quickly averted his gaze.

"Look," Seamus said, standing on tiptoes, "that's them coming down!"

Three girls descended shoulder-to-shoulder from the first-floor landing. To the left was Parvati, dressed in a pink sari. To the right, Lavender, clad in daring blue dress robes. And between them walked Victoria, looking nothing like the wild person she was. A sleeveless gown of rich purple hugged her torso and flared out below to flutter about her ankles. Her hair fell sleekly past her dusky shoulders, and her bronze horns gleamed above her brow almost like a diadem.

Hushed exclamations rippled through the crowd. Victoria's keen gaze landed on Harry, and a smile spread across her face. She bolted forward and promptly tripped over the hem of her gown, only Lavender's and Parvati's timely hands preventing her from tumbling down the stairs. After some instruction from the two, she lifted the skirt of her gown delicately and padded down at speed.

Seamus whistled. "Harry, mate, you should bungle up your spells more often. Who do you think she's going with?"

Harry's lips twitched, but he refrained from answering. Victoria descended the stairs and approached with the other two girls in tow.

"She's coming over here!" Ron exclaimed, glancing around. Some of Harry's mirth must've shown on his face because Ron stared at him. "No way."

Harry allowed himself a gloating smirk. Catching on, Ron and Seamus gaped at him.

"How in the hell?" Ron demanded. "I heard she shot down a seventh-year who asked her out so hard the bloke ran off in tears!"

"I take back what I said," Seamus said faintly. "She's definitely not invisible. Do you reckon I could get a dance with her?"

Harry buffed his nails on his lapel. "I'll ask if there's time."

The girls drew up to them, and everyone around quieted down. When Harry looked at Victoria, tall and resplendent in her gown, he could understand why. He swallowed, unable to tear his eyes off her. She squirmed and looked away, then at him again. Lavender cleared her throat.

He worked his jaw. "You, uh, you look great."

"Really?" she said, fretting with her neckline. "I was worried since this garb exposes so much of my vulnerable squishiness."

Lavender slapped her hand away. "Well, Harry likes it. Don't you, Harry?"

He glared at her for putting him on the spot, but she only smirked. "It's very nice," he said, not looking Victoria in the eye. "I'll watch out for manticores and whatnot, don't worry."

Victoria lowered her head as if to hide her smile and wagged her tail. "I'm glad I let Lav pick it out. My original choice was rather more substantial."

"Brilliant work, Lavender," Ron muttered, ogling.

Victoria narrowed her eyes at him and let out a low hiss. Ron blanched and stepped back.

"Vicky, you silly thing," Lavender said, rolling her eyes. "Stop scaring my date."

Victoria twitched as if waking up. "Sorry. When I see that hair, I just..."

"I know, I know," Lavender said, patting her upper arm. "We better split up. You have a photoshoot to attend, don't you, Harry?"

"Ugh, right." He offered Lavender and Parvati a smile. "Thanks for helping her out, you two."

"Oh, it was our pleasure," Parvati assured. "Have fun tonight, Vicky!"

"You too, Paru, Lav-Lav!"

Giggling, the girls exchanged hugs and sidled up to their respective dates. Victoria mimicked the other two by latching onto Harry's arm. She was a tad too forceful and so close it made his cheeks heat up, but he didn't complain. Nodding to Ron and Seamus, he steered her toward the throng of reporters. People were slow to get out of their way and trailed Victoria with admiring looks.

"What's your problem with Ron, anyway?" he asked in an undertone. "He's not a bad bloke."

Her face clouded. "His ilk can't be trusted."

He snorted. "His ilk?"

" _Gingers_." She glared into the distance. "After I was brought to this land, one of them was tasked with levitating me out of my cage. He was so clumsy that a horn on my back caught between the bars and chipped off." Twisting at the waist, she nudged the left strap of her gown. "I wonder if a mark remains in this form..."

He waved at her frantically. "You can check later!"

"Ah, good point," she said, readjusting the strap. "It wouldn't be wise to display weakness in such a large gathering."

"That too," he said, breathing a sigh of relief.

The headmasters had finished posing for a photo and were now fielding questions from the press. The three champions and their dates lingered nearby, accompanied by Professor McGonagall. Harry grinned in anticipation and strutted up with Victoria in tow.

McGonagall turned and scrutinized them critically. Her lips thinned when she saw how closely Victoria clung to his arm. "About time you showed up, Mr. Potter. The press has been dying to get a group photo of the champions. We can start as soon as the headmasters are finished."

He blinked. "Er, all right."

McGonagall nodded as if that was that and turned to listen to Dumbledore expound on the virtues of education. Harry stared at her, dismayed. He would have relished an angry outburst. Settled for an indignant gasp. But pursed lips? A wrong answer in her class got a bigger reaction than that!

The other champions eyed his date curiously. Harry introduced her as Victoria Horntail, emphasizing _Horntail_ as he glanced at McGonagall, but the professor did not react. The champions too were quick to accept her, and soon they were chatting like old friends.

"Maybe if I fly against my Chinese Fireball," Krum remarked, "it become so impressed it turn into pretty woman too."

"Oh no, Fireballie's a cantankerous old biddy," Victoria said. "Haven't you seen her scales? All dull and flaking." She glanced left and right. "But her flame's only gotten meaner with age, so I wouldn't say that to her snout."

The champions exchanged surprised looks.

Fleur said, "But ze eggs..."

Her Ravenclaw date bobbed his head. "The eggs," he repeated, not taking his eyes off Fleur. "Exactly."

"Oh, those were fake. We don't lay so many as to risk them senselessly, even humans understand that." A sheepish look crossed Victoria's face. "Of course, I only realized that after my change. The humans sprinkled them with a potion that made us want to protect them."

Krum nodded thoughtfully. "Then it is best I not fly. I like my date better than grumpy _baba_." His perpetual scowl lessened as he looked at Hermione.

"I should certainly hope so," Hermione huffed, but a smile belied her tone. She turned animatedly toward Harry. "I had no idea you'd asked Victoria! Only you would invite a dragon to the Yule Ball."

"All in the spirit of international cooperation," he quipped. "She's Hungarian, you know."

"International cooperation, huh?" Cedric considered Fleur and her drooling date, Krum and Hermione, and lastly Harry and Victoria. "Doesn't that leave Cho and I the odd couple out?"

Cho grasped his hand. "Is that so bad?"

"No, not at all," Cedric said softly.

Strangely, as Harry watched them make eyes at each other, he only felt the slightest pang of envy, far outweighed by relief at not having asked Cho to the ball. She clearly fancied Cedric, so he would have only made a fool of himself.

There was no time to ponder his muddled feelings because the headmasters concluded their interview and the reporters ushered the champions before the tapestry. Cameras flashed in their faces, causing Victoria to shield her eyes and flick her tail irritably. He grasped her hand to calm her down, but that only made the flashing worse.

Then Rita Skeeter called for a break and rearranged them. Victoria was dragged up front and center, which was only understandable, though that unfortunately put Harry in the spotlight beside her. Even if one excluded her horns, she was taller than him. He self-consciously stood straighter. Given how much he had been eating lately, his growth spurt better come soon.

Skeeter seized his shoulder with her poisonously green nails and twisted him this way and that. "I've been meaning to talk to you, Harry," she whispered. "Perhaps after we're done here—"

Victoria growled, causing Skeeter to flinch and scurry off. Harry sent her a grateful look. Bringing her might not have gotten a rise out of McGonagall, but he could see other benefits already.

After an excruciating fifteen minutes (his likeness in the photo would doubtlessly be squinting like a mole out of its tunnel) the reporters finally backed off. The champions' duties, of course, were far from over. Everyone piled into the Great Hall, where a hundred or so of cozy round tables were arrayed around a dance floor. Unmelting icicles adorned the arches supporting the ceiling, glowing winter fairies fluttered about, and glittering snow fell and vanished above their heads.

The four couples walked onto the gleaming dance floor, while everyone else streamed to the sides. If Harry felt nervous about the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes, Victoria seemed downright angry.

"They're staring at us like they want to fight," she whispered.

"They're just admiring you." The other champions, he saw, were already holding their dates. He hesitantly reached for Victoria's waist. "Er, are you ready?"

"Yes, Lav and Paru taught me about this." Seizing his wrist, she planted his right hand on her waist and clasped his left. "Dancing must be what humans do instead of fighting. If we intimidate the others with our coordination and grace, they will back down."

The band struck up a waltz. Harry wasn't feeling particularly graceful or coordinated, but there was nothing to do but dance. He stumbled a little on the first step, feeling her fingers tighten on his shoulder, but somehow recovered. As they spun to the music, Victoria's stiff face relaxed into an expression of wonder.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dumbledore, attired in ornamented robes of midnight blue, offer his hand to Madame Maxime. Other couples spilled onto the floor. His duty was over. He met Victoria's eyes and opened his mouth.

"This is fun!" she enthused. "Not as much as flying, but still."

"Yeah." Now he couldn't bring himself to tell her that he wanted to stop.

They danced the next dance, and the next. Victoria's eyes sparkled, and her gown billowed about her legs. She merely laughed when he stepped on her toes; he tried to do the same when she stepped on his, but there was such weight behind her dainty slippers that he wasn't able to suppress his winces. Somehow he was having a good time anyway.

The music stopped, and they separated. Victoria's face was flushed and her hair a little wild. She tilted her head back and tried to catch a falling snowflake with her tongue, only to groan when it vanished. Stooping, she flapped her skirt.

Harry glanced around awkwardly and touched her elbow. "Let's have a drink. People over there seem to be enjoying them."

"Just what I wanted!" she said brightly.

They walked off the dance floor and to a small crowd surrounding a table laden with bowls and glasses. Harry squeezed through and returned with two tall glasses of fruit punch. Victoria scrutinized hers against the light, dipped her tongue into the drink, then grinned and gulped it down.

"One thing I love about this form," she said, licking her lips, "is tasting all the delicious food and drink your kind come up with."

He sipped his drink. Sweet and refreshing, with a curious tang. "This is brilliant. I wonder what's in it?"

He had meant it as a rhetorical question, but she brought her glass up to her nose and sniffed. "Cranberries," she said slowly, "oranges, spice, and spirits."

"Spirits?" He chuckled and took another sip. "They wouldn't put in alcohol. There are third-years around." As a mature fourth-year, he was naturally beyond such concerns.

"Are you doubting the keenness of my nose? We dragons are raised on spirits." She drained her glass and smacked her lips. "Another!"

Harry watched her elbow her way to the punch bowl, suddenly in doubt. Then he spied the Weasley twins sitting three tables away; they had their heads together and were snickering. Fred, or maybe George, caught his eye and winked. Parting his robes, he pointed at a bottle in his inner pocket.

Harry groaned. "We should go easy on the stuff," he said once Victoria returned with a refill. "Fred and George laced it with Firewhisky or some such."

"Excellent!" she cheered. "My flames have been getting tepid." She drank deeply and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You drink too! Maybe you'll finally start developing draconic aspects."

"Well," he said, privately glad for the excuse, "maybe this one glass."

One glass turned into two for him, and he lost count of how many Victoria had downed. When he tried to get her to slow down, she just laughed.

"I'm a dragon, silly," she said, rosy-cheeked. "Spirits don't affect me as they would your feeble kind." She lifted her glass to her lips, then froze and frowned at something behind him.

He turned around and came face to face with Ginny. Ron's little sister rarely crossed his mind, but he suddenly thought she looked quite fetching in her emerald dress robes.

"Hi, Harry," she said shyly.

"Hi, Ginny." He winced as Victoria's claws dug into his shoulder. What was she doing?

Ginny glanced at Victoria uncertainly but plowed on. "Neville's resting his feet, so I was wondering—"

Victoria bared her fangs and hissed quietly.

Ginny gulped. "Excuse me, I only wanted to ask Harry—"

Victoria hissed louder, making Harry wince and drawing the attention of nearby students.

"Um," Ginny said faintly, "never mind." She turned and beat a hasty retreat.

Harry sighed and sent Victoria a chiding look, but her gaze was still fixed upon Ginny's back. "Hasn't your hate of red hair gone too far?" he asked, just a tiny bit amused.

"She was all but raising her tail for you!" she said hotly. "When I'm standing right here! She's lucky I didn't clobber her."

"Ginny doesn't _have_ a tail," he said, but for some reason, Victoria only gave him a patronizing look. "And please don't clobber anyone."

"Then I shall use human methods to communicate the message." She attached herself to his arm. "Don't stray from me. There may be more lone females prowling for powerful wizards like you."

Harry laughed. He very much doubted anyone was interested in him, but the thought was gratifying, and her warmth against his arm felt nice. "I _wish_ I were powerful. Then I wouldn't have to struggle so much in the tournament."

"But you are," she said, sounding confused. "No single spell had ever overcome my scales before. Now come on, let's dance!"

She dragged him back onto the floor. Her energy was inexhaustible, and her face glowed with infectious joy. The other couples twirling around the Great Hall hardly registered on his mind. His reluctance to attend the ball now seemed foolish.

A blur of dances later, they traipsed off to take a break, breathless and smiling. All the nearby tables were packed; people were chatting happily and enunciating orders to their menus, causing elegant meals to appear out of thin air.

Harry became keenly aware that he hadn't had a bite since lunch. He glimpsed Ron, Lavender, and a few other Gryffindors at a half-empty table deeper in and motioned to Victoria.

They squeezed between the crowded tables. Ron saw them coming and waved; Harry grinned, reached back for Victoria's hand, and pulled her along.

There was a loud gasp, and Victoria halted in her tracks. He spun around. An unfamiliar dark-haired witch stood up from a table next to her, a flute of a crimson drink in her hand, and a streak of the same drink staining her dress robes. She made an affronted noise and glared daggers at Victoria.

"You ruined my robes!"

Victoria hung her head, her tail wilting. "I apologize."

"Apologize? _Apologize_?" The witch's voice was getting shrill. "Do you know how much they cost?"

"It's because I pulled her," Harry said with a sinking feeling. "I'm sorry."

The witch just scoffed and addressed a boy who had jumped up to dab at her dress with a handkerchief. "Can you believe this, Edgar? Swinging that creepy tail around like she owns the place. My entire evening is ruined!"

Victoria's hands clenched into fists, but she kept her head down. The boy grunted something in another language and waved his wand over the stain, causing it to fade. Harry grasped Victoria's wrist and tugged her away.

"Looks like your dress will be fine," he gritted out, not looking back.

"Where do you think you're going?" the witch shrieked. "I'm not done talking! Get back here, you clumsy cow!"

That had been exactly the wrong thing to say to a dragon. Victoria gave a low, rumbling growl and spat over her shoulder—only it wasn't spittle but a thin streak of flame. It barely grazed the hem of the witch's robes, but that was enough to set them on fire.

Bedlam ensued. The witch screeched and flailed; Edgar grabbed a drink off the table and threw it at the fire; another boy sprang to his feet and drew his wand. Harry stepped in before Victoria and fumbled for his. The nearby Durmstrang students stood up with dark looks on their faces, but Harry wasn't outnumbered for long because Ron rushed in with backup from Gryffindor. Suddenly they were locked in a tense standoff, dozens of wands aimed whichever way.

"Lower your wands," said a firm voice. Dumbledore was striding toward the commotion with Karkaroff and McGonagall just behind.

Harry almost unconsciously lowered his, as did most of everyone else.

"What is going on here?" Karkaroff demanded. A dozen people started speaking at once, and he waved irritably. "Aksyonova, explain!"

The dark-haired witch gestured at her ruined dress. "Th-that _woman_ made me spill my drink, headmaster," she said tremulously. "And then she set my robes on fire!" Burying her face in her hands, she broke into heaving sobs.

Harry bristled. "You called her"—he glanced at Victoria warily—"you called her a _herbivore_!"

"Hogwarts has been known for its lax standards under your headmastership, Dumbledore, but this is a new low." Karkaroff eyed Harry and Victoria coldly. "If your students cannot refrain from lashing out like common animals, perhaps I should take mine back to the ship for their safety."

Harry scowled. "She isn't a—"

"Now now, Igor," Dumbledore said, "surely you're not so old yet as not to remember the passions of youth. Back in my day, I set quite a few things on fire myself, but that does not make me any less of a person." He glanced at McGonagall. "Minerva, would you kindly escort Harry and Miss Horntail outside? We can decide on an appropriate punishment once tempers have cooled down."

Professor McGonagall nodded and ushered the two of them away. The Durmstrang witch abruptly ceased sobbing and watched them leave.

"Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore," she said loudly. "I feel so much safer already."

Harry scowled over his shoulder, but McGonagall nudged him forward. The students parted before them, whispering to one another, and in short order, they were out in the entrance hall. Victoria kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her hair obscuring her face.

"Please, professor," Harry said. "That witch said nasty things—I wanted to hex her myself!"

"Which is exactly why you need to cool your heads," McGonagall said, steering them toward the exit.

"But it wasn't Victoria's fault!"

McGonagall sighed. "I don't necessarily blame Miss Horntail for losing her temper," she said carefully. "The attitudes toward part-humans in certain parts of the continent can be abhorrent. But the fact remains that she has attacked a foreign guest in an event meant to foster relationships between our schools. It is time for diplomacy, not dragon fire, if you'll excuse my phrasing."

Harry ground his teeth but didn't resist as McGonagall marched them through the ajar double doors and into the frosty night air. A snowy path winded between glimmering ice sculptures.

"Why don't you take Miss Horntail on a nice long walk?" McGonagall suggested. "I expect you will be allowed to return once Headmaster Dumbledore has smoothed things over with Durmstrang."

He listened to the professor's steps fade, still seething. Victoria sent him a side-glance and clasped her hands together tightly.

"I'm sorry I got us driven out," she said quietly.

He turned to her incredulously. Her lips trembled, and ducking her head so that her hair hid her face, she gave a suspicious sniffle.

"Don't be daft!" A little panicked, he brushed her hair away and met her misty gaze. "I never wanted to go to the ball in the first place."

"You're not angry with me?" she asked, looking at him with upturned eyes.

"Not with you." His voice rose. "It's totally unfair. They should've kicked out that Durmstrang bint, not us!"

"It is just as well." She pushed her head against his palm like a cat. "I was tempted to start biting off heads until things quieted down, and that would've been a disaster. My jaws are just too puny for a good chomp."

His lips quirked up. "Sometimes I want to hex the living daylights out of everybody too," he admitted, absently patting her head.

Her eyes closed halfway. "But if neither of us minds leaving," she murmured, "what is there to be upset about?"

He frowned and withdrew his hand. Victoria blinked and straightened up. They looked at each other and burst into laughter.

"You're a genius," he said, shaking his head. "Forget the stupid ball—let's go have a meal down in the kitchens."

She perked up at the mention of a meal, then glanced at the ice sculptures. "Can we look around first?"

"We can do whatever we want."

She smiled and tugged him along the path. Translucent forms of beasts and legendary figures loomed around them, twinkling in the light from the castle windows. There was Merlin, brandishing his staff against a snarling nundu; a proudly sitting sphinx; a flock of diminutive Golden Snidgets on a tree of ice; and a unicorn surrounded by live winter fairies that scattered upon their approach.

Victoria exclaimed, and lifting her gown, raced ahead, her toned calves flashing under her skirt. She stopped before something like a hump-backed bull with spikes upon its armored head and sized it up.

"I recall pouncing on one of these in my homeland when I was but a foolish fledgling," she said, her tail rigid. "Almost broke my teeth."

"A graphorn, right?" he said, catching up. "They say their hide is as tough as a dragon's."

She pouted.

"Almost as tough," he amended.

She returned to studying the sculpture. "I always wondered how they tasted," she said, a hungry gleam entering her eyes. Stepping closer, she licked the graphorn's front leg.

Harry chuckled. Victoria pulled back slightly and made a funny noise. Her eyes swiveled toward him, and she gestured at her mouth, which remained glued to the sculpture.

He stared in confusion, then snickered and reached for his wand. Victoria's noises grew more insistent, and her tail whisked agitatedly. Before he could cast anything, she belched a brief burst of fire and lurched back from the graphorn.

"Goth shtuck," she complained.

Harry erupted in belly laughter. She planted her hands on her hips and frowned, but her peeved expression only made him laugh harder. Finally having enough, she inhaled and launched a jet of fire above his head.

He yelped and ducked. The flames would have passed overhead even if he hadn't, but dragon fire had instilled a healthy fear in him during the First Task.

"Ha-ha!" Victoria said, pointing at him.

He glared at her. "You're asking for it, _Vicky_." Pivoting toward the edge of the path, he scooped up some loose snow, pressed it into a ball, and lobbed it at her.

The snowball arced through the air and splashed smack in the middle between her horns. She squeaked and frantically brushed it off. Her slit pupils narrowed at him, and she stepped forward threateningly, only to trip over her gown and face-plant into the snow.

Chortling, he started toward her to help, but she growled and sprang up by herself. She stooped, gathered up the skirt of her gown, and slashed it off at the knees with her claws. He gaped, distracted by her bare legs and stunned by her ruthless efficiency.

A snowball struck his face, sending him staggering back. Sputtering, he removed his glasses to wipe his eyes. When he put them back on, he saw Victoria sticking her tongue out at him.

He glared. Her eyes glinted, and she slowly licked her lips. Then, simultaneously, they lunged for the nearest piles of snow and furiously packed it into ammunition. His first shot missed, and she nailed him in the shoulder. Then he turned the tables on her and splattered her leg with snow. She shrieked and retreated behind an ice pedestal upon which stood a sculpture of a centaur.

Snowball in hand, Harry ran up to the pedestal. Vicky darted left, then right, only to turn tail and run off along the path. He tossed the snowball through the centaur's legs and hit her exposed upper back, causing her to squeal and wiggle intriguingly. Shooting him a baleful glance, she crouched, scooped up a great heap of snow, and breathed fire above it briefly so it would stick better. Then she stood and lifted the enormous white lump above her head.

Harry whimpered and ran, her gleeful cackle ringing in his ears. His instincts, honed by hours of dodging Bludgers, warned him of impending danger, and he threw himself off the path; the lump of snow hurtled past and splattered over the nundu. He hastily made a snowball and counterattacked, but Vicky spewed fire and melted it mid-air.

"That was wicked!" he cheered.

She preened. "Thank you."

Then their momentary armistice ended, and they went to war again. Harry's hands were getting too cold to melt the snow, and it refused to stick together. Sensing weakness, Vicky drew closer and pelted him mercilessly. He cupped his hands and shoveled the powdery snow at her. She smacked a snowdrift with her tail in retaliation, but the wind blew the white cloud she raised back at her. He laughed.

Growling, she pounced and tackled him to the ground. He grunted in surprise before flipping her over. They rolled away from the path and deeper into untrodden snow, shrieking with laughter.

After half a dozen turns, they sank into a snowdrift and came to a halt. Victoria lay unresisting beneath him, her eyes locked with his and her chest heaving. Her black hair was tousled and sprinkled with white, her cheeks flushed, a snowflake melting on her lips. He swallowed. If he bent just a little lower...

Voices drifted from the distance, relaxed and cheerful. He jerked up. Couples and larger groups filtered out of the castle; perhaps the party was winding down. Flustered, he rose to his feet and offered her his hand.

"We should return to the castle. Best avoid the Great Hall, though." Not that he cared about _representing Hogwarts with dignity_ and all that tripe, but he didn't want people gawking. And gawk they would.

"Oh, all right." She clasped his hand and easily hauled herself up.

He regarded her out of the corner of his eye. Her brutally shortened gown was damp with melted snow and clung to her body in a way that made heat rise to his cheeks. He hurriedly unbuttoned his dress robes and draped them over her shoulders. They were only a little dryer than her gown, but at least covered her up.

"I don't want you catching a cold," he said gruffly at her questioning look.

"Dragons don't catch colds," she said, but smiled and tugged the robes closer around her. Then she considered the thin white shirt he had worn underneath. "But humans do, don't they? Come, I'll warm you in my lair!"

He glanced dubiously toward the dark hut that stood a good distance from Hagrid's, almost within the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Then he contemplated the crowd by the castle doors that they would inevitably have to pass. "Lead the way."

She plowed through the snow, hardly slowing when it rose from her knees almost to her waist. Harry stumbled along in the channel she cut, shivering. Now that he was left in his shirt and trousers, the wind chilled him to the bone, but he would freeze into an icicle before requesting his robes back.

They intersected a narrow path that connected her hut to the castle, and walking became easier. The packed snow crunched under their feet. He blew on his hands and leaned sideways to see how much farther they had to go. Victoria glanced at him and sped along, the tip of her tail swishing below the hem of the robes. In short order, they arrived at her lair.

The squat wooden hut looked much like Hagrid's, which was no surprise given that he had built it. The sloped roof wasn't quite symmetrical and resembled a crooked pointy hat with icicles hanging from its brim. The shutters were closed except on the window facing the castle.

Victoria climbed the front steps and shoved open an iron-studded door. As Harry followed her inside, he glanced at a flimsy shed standing nearby. Through a tiny window on its door, he glimpsed a skinned carcass hanging off a hook.

"Is that a deer?" he blurted out.

Her fangs glinted in the scant light as she glanced over her shoulder. "Good eye, for a human. Hagrid taught me to prepare and preserve it because I can't eat it in one sitting." She sounded rather disappointed about that.

"That's nice," he said. Her hunting in the Forbidden Forest was nothing new, although he had never seen her catch prey this big.

Victoria kicked off her slippers and reached around him to shut the door, leaving them in almost total darkness. She strode inside confidently, orienting by memory or perhaps her keen eyesight. He took off his snowy shoes and waited, knowing that wandering about her lair blind was a tripping hazard.

There was a scrape and a series of thuds; firewood being tossed into the grate. A stream of dragon fire illuminated the surroundings as she breathed on the logs. He ventured inside, stepping over socks, books, loose coins, and knick-knacks. Not the tidiest dragon, Vicky. Then again, given the perpetual mess in the boys' dorms, he was one to talk.

The logs caught fire, and Victoria straightened up with wisps of smoke wafting from her mouth. Harry sat on a thick rug before the fireplace and extended his hands toward the merrily crackling fire.

"Cheers," he said with feeling.

"Warm your chilly fingers," she said. "I'll be right back."

He did exactly that, while she bustled behind him. There wasn't much to her home: a sturdy table, a cluttered pantry, a wardrobe, and a bed by the wall, as well as a door to a small bathroom. After seeing the place, the Gryffindor girls had been appalled, but personally, Harry couldn't see why. It was warm and cozy, and smelled of tree sap and herbs that hung drying from the rafters.

A creak of hinges made him glance back. Victoria stooped before her ajar wardrobe, wiggling her gown down her hips and tail. He wrenched his gaze away, his face burning. No matter how many times the other girls scolded her, she still occasionally forgot the human proprieties.

Fabric dropping on the floor. Barefoot steps. A pulled drawer and soft rustling. Harry gamely kept his eyes on the fire, but his ears sharpened as if to compensate, and his brain gleefully conjured images to go along with the sounds.

He glanced left and right without moving his head. Pots and pans hung from hooks beside the fireplace, and his eyes widened as he realized he could see the reflection of the hut behind in the burnished belly of a kettle. He wasn't sure whether he was disappointed or relieved that Victoria had already changed into loose loungewear. She was holding up his dress robes and peering at them with a peculiar expression.

She glanced his way, and he feared for a moment that she had caught him peeking, but then she turned back. Lifting his dress robes, she buried her face in them. Her tail wagged vigorously.

He pinched the front of his shirt and sniffed it. Did he stink? All the dancing, then the snowfight...

Victoria pushed a chair toward the fireplace, causing him to straighten up quickly. She draped his robes over the backrest to dry and sent him a strange look.

"Could I maybe keep these?" she asked timidly.

He blinked. "I don't think they really fit you."

"I don't mean to wear them." She fidgeted, looking uncharacteristically lost for words. "They—they're soft and warm, and I think they would feel nice to curl up and fall asleep with."

His blush returned in force. "Well—sure, if you want. I don't plan on attending another ball anytime soon. But, er, let me get the house-elves to wash them first."

She giggled. "That would ruin them, silly." Before he could ask what she meant, she added, "Are you hungry?"

"Famished," he admitted. Dancing was surprisingly tiring business.

"Me too!" she said happily. "Let us share my prey."

He abruptly realized that he would be subjected to a dragon's idea of a meal, but it was too late to refuse without appearing rude. With a wary eye, he watched her grab a cleaver from the pantry and bounce out through the door. She returned with a hunk of venison and proceeded to hack it into pieces, rub them with spice, and skewer them on a spit. That was a relief. He had half-expected her to offer him a bite directly from the carcass in the shed.

Victoria washed her hands and flitted to the fireplace. "Excuse me," she said, and drew a deep breath.

Fire streamed from her mouth, yellow at first, then white-hot. Harry scrabbled away. The temperature rose to sweltering as the thick logs that would've taken hours to burn turned to embers in a matter of seconds. He undid the top button of his shirt and fanned his face.

"There we go," Victoria said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "The spirits did help." She set the loaded spit over the embers, and with a satisfied expression, perched on the rug beside him.

They watched the fire in companionable silence. Every now and then, Victoria would coil the tip of her tail around the spit and rotate it. Soon an appetizing smell wafted through the air, and the meat began to drip juices that sizzled on the embers below.

Victoria licked her lips hungrily and blushed when she noticed him looking. "There's all these cuts of meat and the myriads of ways to prepare them," she gushed. "I miss being able to gobble things whole, but the human way is enjoyable too. The same prey can taste so different depending on whether you smoke or stew or grill or..." She trailed off, sniffing. "It smells like it's done!"

He grinned at her enthusiasm. She pulled the spit out of the fireplace with her tail and leaned over it eagerly. Biting into the endmost morsel, she slid it off the spit and snapped it up. Steam escaped her mouth as she chewed with relish.

"Sho tashty," she mumbled, extending the spit.

"It's a tad too hot for me," he said.

She dashed off to fetch a platter. Sliding the meat onto it, she set it between them. Then she knelt and eyed the beautifully browned morsels as if fearing they would escape.

"Go ahead and eat first," he said gallantly.

She grabbed a piece with her claws and popped it into her mouth. Her tail rapped the floor. "It's _sooo_ smoky and juicy and hot!"

Harry swallowed, more than a little hungry himself. Victoria swiftly made headway in demolishing the pile of meat. Then she paused, considered him, and selected a piece off the edge of the platter.

"Won't you eat?" she asked, proffering it to him. "It should be cool enough." Then she winced and pulled her hand back. "Sorry, I forgot—a fork—"

Perhaps her draconic instincts were rubbing off on him because he suddenly wanted that morsel above all else. Lunging forward, he caught it in his mouth. Vicky giggled and let go.

Drawing back, he gingerly bit into the meat. The outside was crispy, but the inside was tender and bursting with scalding juices. Hot but bearable. And somehow the most delicious thing he had tasted in months.

She watched him anxiously. "Would you like another?"

He nodded. She smiled, picked out another piece, and brought it to his mouth. He plucked it hungrily from her fingers. Forks were overrated.

The pile of venison stood no chance against their combined hunger and was quickly reduced to a smear of grease on the platter. Vicky brewed a fragrant tea to wash down the meal, and they settled before the fireplace with steaming mugs in their laps.

"I'm glad," she said contentedly.

He sipped the minty tea. "About what?"

"That you approve of the prey I hunted. When you wouldn't eat that fat succulent boar I left outside your lair, I feared you didn't want to proceed with the courtship." Her speech sped up until she was babbling. "I thought maybe humans didn't understand, so I checked with Lav-Lav, and she said a surprise gift would be very romantic, but you never tossed out the bones to show you'd eaten it, so I didn't know what to think. I'll hunt something more to your liking the next time."

Harry opened and closed his mouth, speechless. Now that he recalled, there had been a disturbing bloodstain outside the dorms a couple of weeks ago. The house-elves must've snatched Victoria's offering before he had even woken up for the day and turned it into pork chops for dinner. He broke into an explanation of his suspicions.

"So you don't have to bring me stuff," he concluded. "Not that I don't appreciate the thought."

"Oh." She stared glumly at her mug.

Troubled, he replayed their conversation in his head. Her pride in her hunting prowess. The purpose of her gift. He set aside his mug and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers, wishing he had paid more attention to Hagrid's rambling lectures about the habits of dragons.

"But..." He swallowed when she looked up at him. "I like you. A lot. And—and I would like you to be my girlfriend." He dropped his gaze. "If you want."

A log crackled in the fireplace. The wind rattled a loose shutter. Unable to take the tension, he looked up again. Her horned head was tilted in confusion.

"Girlfriend," she said as if tasting the word. "Lav-Lav and Paru say they're my girlfriends."

"I mean it like—like human type of courtship," he supplied. "You know, going out."

She perked up, then furrowed her brows again. "But how is that different from the dragons' way?"

"Er—I reckon it must be similar, come to think of it. Except you don't have to bring me meat." He pondered and added, "I already know you're a brilliant hunter."

She gripped his arm. "So when humans _go out_ ," she said excitedly, "do they chase each other, and then mate, and raise hatchlings together?"

"Sometimes," he hedged. "My parents did. But sometimes people just have fun and go their separate ways, I think."

"Yes, if they don't impress each other—it _is_ like our way!" Squealing, she enveloped him in a bruising hug. "I will be your girlfriend, Harry!"

He wheezed in a breath. "B-brilliant."

"And we'll have lots and lots of fun together like we did today!"

"Absolutely," he said, grinning ear to ear.

"And someday we'll mate, and I'll lay a huge clutch of eggs for you!"

He choked out a nervous laugh. "I don't know about that."

She pulled away and peered at him apprehensively. "I'm young and healthy, so I'm sure there would be a lot. Or is it that you don't find me desirable?" Curling her tail into her lap, she gripped it with both hands. "It's because I'm different, isn't it?"

"That's not it," he said, his cheeks hot. "You're very pretty. All of you."

"Then why—ah! When you say you don't know, you mean you _don't know_." She giggled. "Have you never seen your older kinsfolk mate?"

"My kinsfolk—ugh, no!"

"Don't worry, it's nothing complicated," she said authoritatively. "When the season comes, the female raises her tail, and the male mounts her and—"

He groaned loudly and buried his face in his palms. "Can we _please_ talk about something else?"

She was quiet for a time. "Is this one of those topics your kind don't talk about?"

He dipped his head, not looking at her.

"Humans are squeamish about the oddest things," she mused. "I'll just have to show you when the time comes. But first, we have to grow strong enough to clobber anyone who would threaten us and build a safe lair. Something of good solid rock; this place could easily be crushed by a bored giant."

Harry found himself nodding as he deciphered her words. For all her strangeness, she could be surprisingly sensible. "Someday," he agreed, eager to leave the topic behind. It would take a braver soul than he to explain to her that humans didn't lay eggs.

She smiled and nestled against his side. He stiffened a little when her tail snaked around his waist, then relaxed again. Even in the warmth of the hut, he could feel her body radiate heat. It made him hot in a way that had little to do with temperature.

He sent her a surreptitious glance. The embers in the fireplace reflected in her eyes, and her expression was languid and content. He felt a little foolish because his heart was pounding like mad. His gaze lingered on her lips. She was his girlfriend now, so certain things were no longer off-limits, right?

He glanced down at her hand, swallowed, and laid his atop. She turned toward him. He hadn't even been this nervous during the First Task, but he was still facing a dragon, so maybe that was forgivable. Summoning his courage, he leaned in.

Vicky froze, wide-eyed. The tip of his nose skimmed hers, and he tilted his head. His lips brushed her soft, startled ones. Her breath hitched. He drew back and searched her face.

She lifted a hand to her lips. "Wow," she said softly. "Was this snogging?"

"I—I'm not sure. I reckon we'd have to do it a bit longer."

"All right."

She faced him and parted her lips slightly. Closing his eyes, he leaned in. She met him halfway, and neither pulled apart for a long time. Enough to qualify as a snog and a half.

When they separated, breathing heavily, Victoria's cheeks were rosy, and her pupils dark and wide.

"I didn't know snogging felt so nice," she whispered.

"Me neither."

They grinned at each other as if sharing a great secret. She laid her head against his shoulder; slanting his head away from a horn, he caressed her hair. She hummed and snuggled closer.

The fire had all but gone out, and shadows shrouded the corners of the hut. It was with great reluctance that he glanced at the window facing the castle. The distant lights of Hogwarts filtered through gently falling snow.

He cleared his throat. "I better head back."

She looked up in alarm. "You can't!" she said, hugging him. "It's cold and snowy, and there's no moon in the sky. During nights like these, even the mightiest dragons slumber in their lairs."

"But I have to return to the dorms—"

"Is it because my lair's too puny?" Her wings emerged with a leathery rustle. She pushed him down until his head plopped onto an unexpectedly supple wing; the other draped over them like a warm blanket. "Don't worry. No giant will squash you while you're with me."

The wind whistled through the cracks in the window frames. The air had begun to cool, and her embrace felt wonderfully warm. "That's reassuring," he murmured, shifting to make himself more comfortable. Filch had probably locked the castle already, anyway.

"Let us rest," she crooned, "until the sun comes up and burns away the darkness."

She hummed a melody accompanied by a purring rumble in her chest. It was strange, like no song he had ever heard, but soothing. Knots in his body he hadn't been aware of were loosening up. His eyelids drooped, and he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
